


Coping

by AsheTarasovich (natalieashe), Boffin1710



Series: Moments of Life in the Shadows [25]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Agents, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Bad Intel, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Missions Gone Wrong, Quartermaster, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 13:18:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11441715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/natalieashe/pseuds/AsheTarasovich, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boffin1710/pseuds/Boffin1710
Summary: The Quartermaster calls the broken agent back to his flat





	Coping

**Author's Note:**

> Part two of earlier posted 'Dismissed'.

**Q….**

“Buggering fuck” I curse as I dial your mobile for the 50 th time in the last hour.  “Pick up your bloody mobile!”

“What!” you finally growl at the other end of the call.

“Where are you?  Come back to my flat.”

“I don’t fucking want to talk to you…” at least that is what I think you muttered and meant to say.

“Well obviously you do, or did, since you showed up on my doorstep in the bloody middle of the night.  Where are you Trevelyan?”

“Drinking…” of course, comes a reply that I should have expected from you.  I put you on speakerphone while I grab up my other mobile and text Williams who is in charge of the shift tonight requesting he ping your tracker, find out where you are and send a car to that location to pick you up.

“I’m sending a car for you. Downstairs in 15.  Do you think you can manage to find it in some sort of halfway decent manner?”  I at least manage to get out of you what room you are drowning yourself in at the hotel and tell Williams just to send the driver ‘cautiously‘ after you if you don’t appear.  I’ll keep you on the line until the driver has you poured into his car.  Williams questions what is to be done with the agent once retrieval is complete. 

“Have the driver bring him to me.  He’s obviously in no state to come in yet.  Let’s save the staff from being terrorized a little longer if possible.”

“Still with me Trevelyan?”

“Go away Q!”  Which I take as you really don’t want me to go away since you have not disconnected our call.  I rummage around in the cupboard pulling out things to start coffee, that we are so going to need, as I listen to you snarl and curse at me through speaker phone. 

 

**Alec...**   
  
The car ride makes me nauseous but I swallow the bile down repeatedly.  I already know I'm a mess; arriving covered in vomit won't encourage Q to be any more sympathetic.     
  
He babbles constantly on the phone, sometimes even to me.  Whoever else he is speaking with is receiving instructions about at least half a dozen other things that concern the Quartermaster. I envy his ability to do that.     
  
"Don't pass out in the lift."   
  
I realise that last comment was directed at me, and we are sitting outside Q's building with the engine running.  The driver doesn't get out.  I pissed him off too much earlier to earn chauffeur service.   
  
It takes me three attempts to get through the fucking revolving doors.  The building concierge - Peter? Paul? - smirks as I finally make it.   
  
"He said go straight up.  Rough night?"   
  
"Rough fucking life."   
  
Q is waiting at the door.  He steps aside silently, wrinkling his nose, and I stumble inside, making my way to the kitchen table.  This is where we talk.  Sofa is for relaxing.  Bed is for fucking.  Here is where the words are spilled.   
  
He takes my phone and hangs up the call.  I stayed connected all that time, superstitious that if I disconnected Q would turn me away again.   
  
Mug after mug of strong black coffee is pushed in front of me.  When I can't take anymore, stomach churning, head banging, painkillers and chilled water appear instead.   
  
"This self-destructive shite isn't you, Alec.  Don't think you'll feel better about it when you finally sober up.  The girl will still be dead.  It still won't be your fault."   
  
I stare at him, try to focus, but my eyes keep blurring so I have to blink rapidly to clear them.  It's not until I lick a salty wet drop from my lower lip that I realise tears are streaming down my face.  I can't stop them.  A voice in my head is screaming at me, "murderer, killer".   
  
"No, Alec.  Not at all."   
  
And he's kneeling in front of me, arms wrapped around my waist, slim fingers massaging soothing circles over my back while I let the anger, frustration and grief go.     
  
Much later he is still holding me, rocking us as gently as a mother with a child.  He senses the change in me and gradually lets go, hands sliding down my arms until he only holds my fingertips.   
  
"These hands must sometimes take a life, Alec," he kisses each finger.  "But I know the amazing things they are also capable of.  There would not be one without the other."


End file.
